The Political Abyss
by BryWrites
Summary: When President Gideon vanishes, VP Aaron Hotchner is thrust into the position he's always worked towards. Running a country isn't easy though, especially when your Cabinet members are dealing with affairs, allegations, and addictions. For when you look long into the political abyss, the abyss also looks into you.
1. 1st

**_Number One Observatory Circle, Washington DC  
May 3_** ** _rd_** ** _, 3:01 AM_**

Aaron Hotchner was not unfamiliar with phone calls at odd hours of the night. It's just that he usually had an inkling that they would be coming. This one was wholly unexpected.

"Mr. Vice President, I'm sorry to wake you." It was the voice of Grant Anderson, one of the heads of secret-service. "But there's something you need to see, and it's urgent. I'll be outside the house to escort you to the Situation Room in five minutes." This wasn't a suggestion or a request, but a non-negotiable order. He had five minutes to throw on some appropriate clothing and gather his things, bracing himself all the while for whatever might be waiting for him.

Gideon preferred to use the Situation Room sparingly, even in the state of paranoia he suffered after the bombing in Boston. It took a truly clandestine crisis to receive such a summons. The last time he remembered being called there was for a briefing after Frank Brietkopf had resurfaced in the DC area. Hotch shuddered at the thought.

That was a night he never wanted to relive.

In the rom, he found the Cabinet all waiting, looking expectantly at him, evidently the last to arrive. Jennifer Jareau was at the head of the room, managing the others as any good Chief of Staff knows how to do. Correction – perhaps he wasn't the last to arrive. The President's chair was open. And yet, the doors were being closed. What was happening?

JJ cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm afraid we have a crisis. Late last night, a letter was discovered in the Library. A letter from President Gideon stating that he felt he could no longer perform his duties as President of the United States, and has henceforth resigned." Gasps of disbelief and anxious chatter flooded the room, which JJ quickly shut down, commanding attention once more. "Upon examining the Oval Office, we found two additional letters, formal resignations to be delivered to both the Speaker of the House and the president pro tempore, as called for by official procedure. Gideon however, has vanished."

The cacophony of sound rose again, this time louder and more panicked. Hotch sat there in the midst of it all, trying to process exactly what this meant. "Who found this letter?" he asked.

"That would Secretary Reid," answered JJ. The young, awkward Secretary meekly raised his hand.

"And how did you find it?"

Reid swallowed hard, the picture of uncertainty. Despite his youth, the man was brilliant, Hotch knew that. He'd been a mentor to the Secretary, tried to impart what wisdom he could; but now was not the time for niceties. It was a matter of national safety.

"I was looking for the President. He hadn't been around all day, and we were going to meet and review suggested policies over a game of chess, but he never showed up. I thought he might be in the library, and when I went there… well, I found it. It had my name on it," he added, his voice a little quieter. "It said he knew I would be the one to find it."

For a brief second, Hotch felt something akin to jealousy, that the youngest member of the administration should be the one Gideon chose to address; but then he reminded himself it made the most sense. Despite having worked with Gideon for years, he shared a special with Reid. He was father and mentor and friend at once, and while Hotch had long since learned to see the flaws in the President's ways, Reid practically worshipped the man. Besides, Hotch had a wife and a son to go home to at the end of the day, a life of his own. Reid had no friends outside of work and no family of his own.

Of course _he_ would go looking for Gideon, late after hours. Of course he would be the one to find the letter. It was nothing personal. Merely Gideon running the odds and predicting which one of them would be most likely to be in a particular place at a particular time.

"So where do we go from here?" Hotch wasted no time on other questions, just got to work.

"The President left very specific instructions. He doesn't want to be disturbed or found. We're to tell the country he's dead."

His eyebrows knit together in confusion at JJ's words. "That would mean holding a funeral. A televised one. Not to mention notifying Stephen and-"

"I'll take care of it, Hotch." Blue eyes stared into him, unwavering. The Chief of Staff has never faltered in her promises. Work that was done with the utmost precision and perfection, that is what he'd come to expect from her. "All you need to worry about right now is fulfilling your duty as President of the United States. The inauguration will take place as soon as possible."

There were a million things weighing on his mind after the Cabinet was dismissed. What would he say to the country? How would he choose a new administration? Who would be his Vice President? Hundreds of choices to be made.

The very first of which was deciding what to do next. Hotch instructed Anderson to take him back to Observatory Circle, to the old, white Victorian house that was designated as the official residence of the VP. Walked up one flight of stairs and into the bedroom where he gently woke Haley.

"Aaron? What time is it?"

"5 AM." That seemed to shake most of the sleepiness from her senses, and she sat upright.

"What is it? What's happened?"

"It's Gideon," he told her. Paused. Then said, "He's dead." The truth was strictly need-to-know, and Haley didn't _need_ to know. Every day things happened that he had to lie to her about, because the truth was too dangerous. Or was absolutely confidential. So he lied, no matter how much he wished he could tell her. At times he wondered whether or not she could tell that the information he gave was false. Did she know, instinctively, that he knew more than he was allowed to say?

This was one of those times, when her eyes searched his face before she murmured, "Oh, God. Aaron. That means…" Things had been tense between them lately, but she held him close, arms flung tight around his neck. "Our life is never going to be the same, is it?"

This time, he didn't have to lie. He simply returned his wife's embrace "No. No it won't."

* * *

 ** _The White House Cabinet Room, Washington DC  
May 3_** ** _rd_** ** _, 11:30 AM_**

Only eight hours later, an inauguration was put together. Eight hours wasn't enough time to process it all. Derek Morgan went to sleep the previous night sure of his status and his job, knowing that the President was a little unsteady (but then, he'd been before, and had come out of it mostly intact), and believing that Jason Gideon would be president for another two and a half years. When he was awoken that morning, the world was turned upside down, like a junk drawer, all of its contents shook loose and spilled out on the floor.

A mess, that's what it was. They were all just trying to make sense of things. The Cabinet had been through so many changes already. Not even a year ago had Emily Prentiss replaced Elle Greenaway as Secretary of State, after Elle suffered a nervous breakdown and resigned. Now Gideon was gone, too.

There were four members of the Cabinet who were exceptionally close, both with each other and with the President and Vice President. Emily, Reid, JJ, and Morgan. Along with the Director of the Office of Public Engagement, Penelope Garcia, they had a close-knit group that supported each other in the daily challenges of government work. Now Gideon was missing-in-action and Hotch was the President. That left Morgan feeling uncertain about the future, as he stood and watched the swearing in ceremony. It had been thrown together as soon as possible, almost immediately after announcing to the press that the President had passed away.

Chief Justice Jack Garrett recited the oath of office, which Hotch faithfully repeated. "I, Aaron Hotchner, do solemnly swear that will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States." Haley stood by his side, their two year old son, Jack, sleeping in her arms.

The new VP was to be an old associate of both Gideon and Hotch, the former Chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee, David Rossi. Rossi was a bit of a bureaucratic legend, having authored several books since his days in the Senate, and wasn't known for being a team player. If Hotch trusted him though, they all had to trust him.

"Reid, what do you think about this guy?"

Reid barely glanced away from the scene at the front of the room, where Hotch was now speaking intently with the new VP. "Well, Rossi has decades of experience to offer. He changed the game in the Senate during his time in Congress, and was instrumental in putting through crucial legislation. He's respected, but I don't know if he's well-liked."

"You don't get to be where he is by being well-liked," he said.

"Does anybody get anywhere in this field by being well-liked?" Emily asked, leaning in to speak lowly. "I mean, we're politicians for god's sake." Before Morgan could respond, Hotch cleared his throat at the front of the room, and all eyes turned his way.

"I'd like to thank you all for being here," he said, his voice measured and steady. "I realize, circumstances being what they are, that things are going to be chaotic. This won't be an easy transition, and I'm going to need each of you to be at your best. With Gideon gone, there's bound to be media scrutiny and speculation. We've got to present a united front to the country right now, and show them that we're capable. If you wish to leave your post, I ask that you submit your resignation immediately. I have no plans to fire anyone currently in the Cabinet. However, there are a few open positions that will need filling. Things are changing, and this is a difficult time, but I assure you that together we'll get through it."

Morgan could only hope as much. There were so many unanswered questions. Where did Gideon go? Would the press buy their story? Would the funeral go off without any problems? How was this going to work? Hotch had always acted as a de facto leader to the team, as Gideon had a history of going off on his own and overlooking the people who made things happen. It was natural to have him in a position of power, but that didn't mean everyone would accept it.

That evening, a private dinner was held with the closest members of Hotch's Cabinet. After the main course had been served and conversation drew to a lull, Morgan stood with Reid and Emily outside the door, gossiping about David Rossi.

"He's a loner," Morgan said, tossing back a glass of whiskey. "Definitely not the kind to make friends in his work. He's focused on one thing and one thing only. Which means he has to have some sort of motive for accepting the position."

"Yeah, it's called power, and anyone in this swamp would say yes. Even those who say they'd never want the job would say yes," Emily retorted.

Reid shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "He's a successful politician whose books have sold over a million copies."

"Yeah, so there's a million reasons not to come back, if you know what I'm saying," Morgan said. "He's rich, he's famous, he appears on plenty of talk shows and news programs. The guy could do anything, and he swore off politics when he retired. Gideon disappears and he changes his mind? Seems strange to me."

Morgan wasn't the only member of the Cabinet prone to overanalyzing people and situations. They all did. Politicians had to be good at reading people, their jobs demanded it. He could tell what a person wanted and what they needed to hear after only a few minutes of conversation, and he could determine their background based on their habits and behavior. Who had money, who didn't, who was trying too hard to fake it? Who was there for the right reasons and who was just concerned about reelection? It was all about playing the game, and Derek Morgan was good at playing the game.

"Reid, you've read all his books, right? What do you know about him other than his political record?" The Secretary of the Treasury was brilliant, and his eidetic memory made him one of the most accurate fact-checkers in Washington. On the job, he could calculate just about anything, memorize important documents, and keep facts straight; more often than not though he was utilized as a party trick at government functions.

"I don't feel comfortable speculating on the personal life of the Vice President."

"Come on, Reid," Emily urged, elbowing him. "Give us something."

Reid sighed. "He's from an old Italian family, he's been married and divorced three times, served in the Marine Corps-"

"Okay," Emily interjected. "Italian, so he's probably had strict Catholic upbringing. That coupled with the Marine Corps could make him a bit of a hardass, He's likely to be distant, emotionally detached, perhaps even lonely."

"Which fits with his inability to maintain meaningful relationships," Morgan added. "He's not a team player, and he tends to do things his way. Despite that, he probably has a moral code, being Catholic. Probably believes in redemption."

"Oh, I believe in a lot of things." The three of them turned around, horrified, to see Rossi standing behind them, looking vaguely bemused. "You got the Italian-Catholic bit right, but my upbringing wasn't that strict. As for my relationships and my time in the military, I hardly think you can accurately judge a person's personality by a few brief glimpses of their past. If you have questions, you know you can just _ask._ "

Emily glanced down at the glass of wine she was holding, all of them embarrassed to have been caught in the act. To their surprise, Rossi simply said, "You should probably come join us back inside. They're serving dessert, and Hotch has a few things to say before we head our separate ways."

They obeyed, following the VP back into the dining room. It was still a shock to see Hotch sitting at the head of the table, where Gideon had always been. Things were more calm than the morning had been, but Morgan knew this was only the beginning. They were all still shell-shocked, standing deep in the river and waiting for the current to drag them under. 'It would be then that they would be forced to sink or swim. A thing like this didn't effect everyone equally. It would take time to heal, yes, but it would take time too for wounds to be revealed.

The only thing he was certain about – nothing was ever going to be the same.

* * *

 ** _Arlington National Cemetery, Washington DC  
May 6_** ** _th_** ** _, 1:49 PM_**

They buried the President with all the grief they could muster. Reid didn't feel sadness so much as bitterness, anger, but it manifested all the same. He didn't have to fake the tears as they stood on the lawn, somberly dressed in black. Flashbulbs on cameras went off all around them, marking the moment in history. Hotch gave the eulogy, as Stephen has refused to attend.

The words were hollow, fake grief for a fake death. The world wouldn't know that, though. They didn't know the casket was as empty as the things they said that afternoon. Hotch was stoic as always. Garcia and JJ looked genuinely moved, mourning the loss of a friend who would never return. Emily and Morgan stood in a stiff silence, sunglasses on despite the cloudy weather. Reid cried quietly, not caring who saw him. In his heart, he hoped Gideon was watching the mess he made, would realize how many people he'd hurt.

I was not all about him. There were other people whose lives depend on him. And he was just gone.

Everyone has always left him. His father gave up, his mother lost her mind to her illness. He could never make friends outside of work. He even lost himself, after the incident with Tobias Hankel. He was still losing himself, fighting to keep it together and not to give in to the only thing that promised consistency.

Gideon left. Gideon abandoned him. Leaving him only with a letter to remember him by. As if it helped. A piece of paper couldn't fix a heart so broken by loss, or mend what was such a violent severing of ties. Gideon was a coward. He couldn't even step down publicly. Instead, they had to fake his death for him.

 _I knew it would be you who came to the library to check on me. You must be frightened. I apologize for that. I never meant to cause you any pain._

Then why leave the letter at all? Gideon was one of the few people Reid opened up to, he knew how hard it had been when his father left. Had Gideon ever really been listening to those confessions? Quiet discussions on the lawn or over chess. Maybe that's all it was to him. One big chess game, and Reid was merely another pawn on the board, a piece Gideon could move to get what he wanted.

 _A president needs to have solid footing to lead a country. I don't think I do anymore. This country confuses me. The world confuses me. The cruelty, the indifference. And the tragedy._

The tragedy? What right did Gideon have to say the senseless tragedies of the world confused him? His head asserted that there was plenty the President had to deal with, so many losses and failures and difficult moments. He'd led the nation through dark days, even when struggling with his own personal losses. He lost Sarah, killed by a radical extremist only because she was connected to the President. He'd lost colleagues and friends, most notably at the bombing in Boston years earlier. And for all of those things, part of Gideon blamed himself.

Yet he took no responsibility for Elle's breakdown, or for allowing Tobias Hankel to get close to Reid.

It was irrational, the anger he felt, but he'd spent his whole life acting rationally. He deserved one moment of rage, to allow all the frustrations he'd compartmentalized to come crashing over him.

Tragedy. That was his life. One tragedy after another. They all had burdens to carry, but how was it that Gideon thought someone who'd been through all he'd been through couldn't understand the tragedies of the world?

 _As bad as losing faith in humanity seems, losing your faith in happy endings is much worse._

Was this Gideon's way of finding happy endings again? By forcing all of them to sit through an unhappy one?

For once, Reid didn't have answers. Nothing about it made sense. He didn't know why he was standing in an uncomfortable black suit, shedding tears over someone who didn't even have the courtesy to say goodbye. What was the point? What was the point of any of it? He wanted to think his work made a difference, but maybe a the end of the day he was just another bureaucrat in a suit, unable to make the slightest ripple in the world.

The rifle party raised their guns to begin the twenty-one gun salute, and simultaneous shots rang out into the air. Reid wiped his sleeve over his eyes, and a hand touched his arm gently. JJ gave him a cautious look, silently checking in on him. Reid sniffed and nodded, letting her know he could handle this. Not that he had a choice.

Gideon, one way or another, was effectively dead. It was time to let go, and move on. He deserved a happy ending, too. Didn't he?

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I've always been interested in politics, and couldn't help but wonder - what if the BAU were in a very different section of the US government? So this fic is partly an exploration of that question, and partly a response to the maddening current state of the political world. I'm not quite sure where this will end up going, but thanks for coming along for the ride!**

 **A quick note about the timeline - as I'm sure you've noticed, things will be a bit disjointed and overlapping. It's sort of a condensed timeline, and things that may have happened seasons apart on the show might occur simultaneously. But, hey, it's an Alternate Universe! That's what it's for. :)**


	2. 2nd

**_The Cabinet Room, Washington DC  
May 7_** ** _th_** ** _, 12:30 PM_**

Jennifer Jareau glanced down at the list before her.

 **The Cabinet:**

 _Secretary of State: Emily Prentiss_

 _Secretary of the Treasury: Dr. Spencer Reid_

 _Secretary of Defense: Derek Morgan_

 _Attorney General: Mateo Cruz_

 _Secretary of the Interior: Max Ryan_

 _Secretary of Education: Dr. Alex Blake_

 _Secretary of Agriculture: Ashley Seaver_

 _Secretary of Commerce: Gina Sharp_

 _Secretary of Health and Human Services: Tara Lewis_

 _Secretary of Transportation: Kate Joyner_

 _Secretary of Energy: Kevin Lynch_

 _Ambassador to the United Nations: Clara Seger_

 _Administrator of the EPA: Mae Jarvis_

 _Director of National Intelligence: Russ Montgomery_

 _Office of Management and Budget: Matthew Simmons_

 _Director of the Central Intelligence Agency: Samuel Cooper_

 _Administrator of the Small Business Administration: Matt Spicer_

 _Awaiting Confirmation:_

 _Secretary of Housing and Urban Development: Andi Swann_

 _Secretary of Labor: Kate Callahan_

 _Secretary of Veterans Affairs: Luke Alvez_

 _Secretary of Homeland Security: Stephen Walker_

There were still a few positions that had recently opened, two immediately after the announcement of Gideon's death, that needed to be filled. JJ had confidence that the Senate would confirm all of them – in a time like this, nobody wanted to stall things. There was too much grief for the past, too much worry for the future. Besides, they needed to present a united front, and she was willing to say whatever she had to in order to sway any last minute holdouts who refused to cross party lines. Until the measures passed, she wouldn't be able to meet with their newest additions, but as Chief of Staff she was ready to get down to business with those she could officially meet with.

Seventeen Cabinet members, along with Press Secretary Jordan Todd, sat around a long table, staring up at her. Some people would have been unnerved in that situation, but Jennifer Jareau was nothing if not cool under pressure. She met their stares coolly, taking them in, letting them know she was more than capable in this position.

"I know the situation we're in is unconventional," she said. "You began your term with one president, and will finish it with another. President Hotchner has chosen to keep most of Gideon's Cabinet intact, a move which I agree with. You all work well together, and there's no reason you can't continue to perform your jobs effectively. If anyone believes this to be false, I suggest you leave now." Seventeen pairs of eyes didn't look away. "Good. In that case, let's get to it. The country is watching. Right now, they need reassurance that things will be fine. They want to know that their government can still function. It's our job to prove that it can. In the next few weeks, Hotch will be releasing statements regarding his plans for the administration. I expect you to listen, to learn, and to provide your full support."

"With all due respect," said Secretary Sharp, "are we supposed to just pretend like nothing has happened? Carry on like this is normal?"

"As much as possible," she answered. "Gideon is gone. Everything in regards to him is now on a strict need-to-know basis, and you can bet that if anyone who doesn't need to know finds out, I'll find whoever let it slip." Rustles of unsettlement filled the air as people shifted in their seats. JJ didn't like playing the bad guy, but she had a job to do. At times, she felt like a glorified babysitter, wrangling Secretaries and other members of the staff into place and keeping them all in line. When she wanted to, she could be caring, gentle. But this position demanded a no-nonsense attitude, and that's exactly what she gave them.

After answering any and all questions they had, she finally dismissed the Cabinet, watching them all file out one by one. Only a handful lingered back. The "inner circle" so to speak, the very closest members of the cabinet. The "Cupboard" as she'd taken to calling them. Secretaries Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss; occasionally joined by Lewis, Blake, and Director Garcia. As Lewis and Blake both had meetings to get to, it was only the three who stood there with her.

"So that's it, huh?" Morgan asked. "That's how an era ends."

"That's politics," Emily answered, shrugging. With a mother who was an ambassador, she spoke from decades of experience. "One empire falls, and another rises."

The four of them filed out of the room together. "What happens now?" asked Reid.

JJ gazed out a window, onto the Rose Garden. They were in full bloom now. Politics was sometimes like perennials, cycling through the seasons. Sometimes leaving only the most jaded evergreens behind in its wake. Those who were sensitive, delicate, requiring more care were often the ones who vanished.

"Now, we move forward," she answered. "We work through policy. We do our jobs. Business as usual."

* * *

 ** _DuPont Circle, Washington DC  
June 1_** ** _st_** ** _, 8:17 PM_**

It wasn't long until the administration was faced with their first crisis. And in the middle of the briefing, Emily forgot how to breathe. A threat had been detected abroad, and American citizens visiting Galicia, Spain were in danger. Hotch was working to notify the American Embassy in Spain, as well as local law enforcement in the city in the hopes of saving lives.

Matthew was in Galicia.

He was taking a trip to the Santiago de Compostello, she'd heard so from their mutual friends. It had been months since she and Matthew had talked in person – his health was getting worse, and no doubt his parents still hated her. But she could never forget him.

What were the odds he could be in harm's way? They didn't have a location. Only a range of possibility. Maybe Matthew was out of the city that day. Maybe he would stay indoors. On the other hand, what if he didn't? What if he was hurt.

Emily stared down at the legal pad in front of her, notes she'd scribbled down half-heartedly. It would only take one phone call. What would she even say? To give details would be a breach of confidentiality. A vague plea would only confuse him, and given her position he'd likely know something was up. She was Secretary of State. It was her job to put the country first, to maintain foreign relations, to do the most good. If she called him, all of their covert operations could be put at risk.

"Prentiss." Morgan was staring at her, eyebrows raised. Living so close to each other, he'd been brought in for a joint briefing in her apartment before they each headed off to their respective departments. They were at the top of the priority list, as were Hotch and Rossi. The other secretaries and advisors would be told throughout the day as needed based on developing intelligence information. "What's on your mind?"

During briefings, she had always been the picture of composure. Cool, calm, collected. Walking the fine line between poise and emotion. Politics was a tough game for a woman, a great balancing act in which one had to be perfect. Veer too far in any direction and wind up in headlines questioning your ability.

"It's just…" The words caught in her throat. Could she be honest with him? This was Morgan. They had seen each other and their best and worst. He'd stood by her appointment even when Hotch had his reservations. They gave each other Vonnegut books for Christmas. "A friend of mine is in Galicia right now. I'm worried about him," she said.

He sighed, standing from the table. "We still don't have enough information. Alerting anyone now would-"

"I know, I know. I'm not going to risk that." Her fingers clenched into a fist under the table. She wasn't stupid, the rules were clear. Though she wouldn't have been the first Cabinet member to bend them in order to fit her own agenda. Gideon was notorious for doing so, and she had no doubt Hotch had skirted them as well. At any other time, perhaps the temptation would have been enough for her to take action, but with the transition between administrations, there was too much risk. Reporters were watching the White House closer than ever. Communications were monitored, security protocols were tight. A digression like this could cost her her career. On the other hand, staying silent could cost her her friend.

With a stoic determination, she threw on her coat and grabbed her black bag, stepping out into the chilly rain. Puddles were already forming from the downpour, which she quickly hopped over to reach the waiting car. The driver was quiet, never spoke unless spoken too. For that she was grateful. The backseat of the car offered her a particular kind of privacy. Tinted windows and isolation, nobody to see her break down or panic. Emily lay her head back against the cool leather of the seat and watched rainwater stream down the windows. DC moved past in a blur, but her mind was miles away, across the ocean.

Inside the walls of the State Department, she tried to busy herself with routine. Notebook, files, paperwork. Calls to be made, diplomatic missions to approve. At noon, Emily leaned against the doorway and stared out at the office. Listened to the murmurs and scraps of conversation floating through the air, watched her colleagues running back and forth between desks and doors. All these people going about their lives with no idea that somewhere, a storm was brewing.

When the phone rang at 3 PM, she jumped. Emily forced herself to take a deep breath and exhaled before answering the call.

"There's a car out front," came JJ's voice from the other end. "Come straight to the situation room."

 _Please let this be something else_ , she prayed silently. Was it praying if she wasn't sure who she was talking to? It had been years since she willingly set foot in a church. That was another thing she and Morgan shared. An extreme aversion to religious ceremonies and buildings. What had shaped his hesitation? In a matter of minutes she was back at the White House, piling into a room with the rest of the Cabinet and some of the National Securities Advisors.

Hotch sat at the head of the table beside Director Cooper, head of the CIA. He was a tall, bald man, dressed in a jacket emblazoned with medals and pins, who spoke with a low voice. "I'm going to get straight to the point. Some of you were updated on a situation we were monitoring in Spain. There was an attack in Galicia. It'll be on the news shortly."

Her chest tightened.

"Four people were shot in the lobby of a hostel that catered to American travelers. Three of them have been pronounced dead, the third is recovering in the hospital."

"And the suspect?" asked Rossi.

"Apprehended and in custody. He seems to be a lone wolf terrorist," replied Cooper. "His name is Paul Silvano."

Hotch flipped over one of the papers in front of him. "It's only a matter of time before questions begin coming in. We don't have information on motivations or much of Silvano's background, but you'll be updated as soon as we do. You may receive questions from reporters or citizens – refer to the second page of the packet for answers to give. Secretaries Prentiss and Morgan will pass on the later information we receive. Refer people with specific concerns to the State Department." Barely a month in and he was able to command the presence of the entire room at ease.

"Do we have the names of the victims?" asked Morgan.

"We do," said Cooper. "Thomas Valentine, Patrick Cavanaugh, and Matthew Benton."

The pain those four syllables caused was palpable. All the air left her lungs in an exhale she could barely restrain from becoming a sob. Not him. Not Matthew. She was acutely aware of heads turning her way.

"I – I'm sorry." Before any questions could be asked she rushed out of the room, shoving the door shut behind her. The interior of the White House suddenly felt too stifling and her feet carried her out to the lawn. She ran through the rain to a sheltered overhang on the South Lawn. The lawn was vibrant in summer green, everything alive. It didn't feel right, with the cold she felt upon hearing the news. Snow would feel right. Frozen, empty. The end of something, not the blooming beginning.

"You want to talk about it?" Emily turned to see the Vice President, holding a black umbrella. "You don't have to," Rossi added. "But if you do, I'm all in."

She weighed her options. Bare her soul to a man she knew little of? Or suffer in silence in the rain? The truth was threatening to drown her, she had to tell someone.

Her voice was strained when she finally managed to speak up. "He was… he was one of my best friends. Matthew Benton. We haven't spoken in years."

"What happened?"

Emily stared down at her boots, covered in mud from the lawn. It was the only way she could tell the story without shaking. Rossi stood there, perfect poker face, as she explained how her family had moved around frequently as a kid. How in Italy, she was desperate to make friends, to be accepted. How she would have done anything for that. At fifteen, she found herself staring at a pregnancy test in the school bathroom.

"Was Matthew the father?" he asked. Rossi's tone was gentle, which surprised her. Sarcasm and skepticism were typical for him, and given his faith, she'd expected more judgment from him. Maybe she had the wrong impression.

"No. But he was there for me when nobody else was." He was the one who went with her to talk to Father Gamino, and helped her find a doctor. Stayed with her after the procedure. And never would she forget that Sunday when they returned. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes. "Father Gamino actually stopped his sermon, but Matthew told me to hold my head up, and we walked to the front pew."

The tears began to fall freely now, her shoulders shaking. "Matthew saved my life. He made me feel like I was worthy… of love. And – and friendship," she sobbed. Things she would never be able to tell him in person again. He knew, didn't he? Oh, Matthew had to know how much she still cared for him. Her best friend. "I should have called him! I should have warned him! This is my – it's my fault!"

To her surprise, she found herself in a hug. "It's not your fault," said Rossi. "It's not. You don't know if that call would have changed anything."

"I could have saved his life. I owed him that."

"I don't think Matthew would have seen it that way. That's now how life works, Emily. We don't do things like that for people because we want them to owe us. We do it because we love them."

"It's not fair!" she cried, grateful for the sound of the rain to drown out her voice.

Rossi squeezed her shoulder. "No, it's not. It's not fair, _bella_. Sometimes there are no answers. But you wanna talk, you come find me." They stood there in the rain in silence, until Emily finally stepped back, ready to return inside. They walked together into the Oval Office, soaked to the bone. Cooper had additional briefing information she would need to hear, along with Rossi and Hotch. It took almost an hour to go over everything they knew.

Silvano was a former priest, retaliating for what he believed was a murder committed by American tourists. Unable to take out the potential suspects, he'd decided to make a statement on Americans in general. Authorities had found a long note from him, claiming Americans were possessed by evil, that this was the only way to rid the world of its demons. Matthew happened to be in the line of fire.

After Cooper finally left, the three sat alone in the dim light of in the office. Rossi grabbed an old bottle of red wine from beneath a desk, pouring it into three glasses.

"I just don't believe in all that _demonology_ rhetoric," Emily muttered. Rossi made a face, and Emily quirked an eyebrow. "Come on, don't tell me you believe in evil."

"Don't tell me you do this job and you don't," he responded, without missing a beat. The VP leaned over to hand each of them a glass.

Emily shrugged. "Evil acts, maybe. But those are choices, brain chemistry. Not some omnipotent force of the universe. What do you think, Hotch?" For a second, she thought he might not answer her. After all, things were different now. Being Vice President still allowed a certain degree of familiarity, but now that he had assumed a new role, they were all still trying to figure out where the boundaries were.

Then he said, "I think deep down, we're all capable of unspeakable things. Where it starts or what you call it, I don't know." With that, he took a long drink of wine, Rossi following suit.

The wine was dark, deeply scented. She stared into it, imagining some sort of answer would rise from it that might make sense of the chaos of the day. Was it all worth it, this job? Was it worth risking friendships, making decisions that might save or take lives. What were they giving up to be sitting in this office right now?

 _I'm sorry, Matthew._

Maybe Rossi was right. Maybe there were no clear answers sometimes.

Emily tipped back her glass, the bitter taste lingering on her tongue.

* * *

 ** _The President's Bedroom  
June 19_** ** _th_** ** _, 8:40 PM_**

Haley sat on the plush armchair by the window, having put Jack to bed, and stared out the window. The lawn was green, perfectly trimmed. Everything was perfect in the White House. That perfection was just a cover though. An illusion that everything happening inside was just as cheerful as the building's exterior.

What a lie that was. The White House was full of secrets, dark ones at that.

She had secrets of her own. Since her husband first snagged the spotlight as a young Senator from Virginia, she'd learned to keep her composure in public and keep her thoughts to herself. In the weeks before Gideon's death, she'd been planning to leave Aaron. Things were too tense between them, and though she still loved him, they hadn't been a proper family in a long time. She wanted Jack to have a normal, happy childhood, and a father who was around to see it happen. The only person she'd confided in was Jessica, her sister.

Now that Aaron was President, her plans had changed. The desire to leave was still there, but she knew how bad it would look if the First Lady left the White House only a few months into the term. She had to play the press game, and keep her chin up even when she had no more strength left to do so. When things quieted down, perhaps she could quietly separate, slip away from the tabloids and the pressure. "Reclaim" her life. That was a phrase her sister Jessica used whenever they spoke.

"You need to reclaim your life Haley," she'd say. "You and Jack aren't some prop for him to use when it's convenient." And while she wanted to defend Aaron, assure Jessica that their relationship wasn't just one of convenience, she couldn't deny that Aaron's absence wasn't strongly felt. Jack was always asking for his dad, and what was she supposed to tell him?

In part, she blamed Gideon. It had shocked her that the strongest feeling she had upon hearing of his death was resentment. Aaron had always been a workaholic, but Gideon had encouraged it. The late president's own family had fallen apart, he'd been divorced before he began his campaign for president. Even Aaron didn't know when he had last spoken to his son, Stephen. The only person he loved had been killed. Did the thought of living that life ever frighten Aaron? She was afraid of losing him, in one way or another.

Leaving him was supposed to be a wake-up call, a reminder that there were other people in his life who needed him. Now more than ever, it seemed he belonged to the country. To the public.

Wasn't that how he'd rationalized it to her once, after leaving on Jack's first birthday to work on policy? "They need me," he'd said.

"What about us? We need you, too!"

"Haley, this is who I am."

"No, Aaron, it's not!" she'd cried. "This is what you _do_." That hadn't stopped him though. He thought she didn't understand the pressures, the forces at play behind the scenes in this political abyss.

She knew more than she let on. There were other spouses in Washington, husbands and wives, partners and nannies. There were channels of gossip that floated between various staff and reporters, bits and pieces she learned to glean from the grapevine because for some reason, they never assumed she was listening.

There were rumors about the real reason Secretary Greenaway left DC. About what had really happened during Secretary Reid's mysterious absences. That the government had made a deal with Frank Brietkopf. Rumors about Gideon himself. There were ghosts in this house, skeletons behind every door, carrying secrets heavy enough to bring the District to its knees.

It was only a matter of time before things came out about her. Nothing stayed secret here, not for long.

Wasn't it Nietzsche who said that? If you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.

Haley Hotchner had been staring into the abyss long enough to know that something wasn't right.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Thank you to JediKnightoftheRogueSquadron, chenryrn1, iluvhotchme, krusherlover, mggublergal, tazluver2001, zhangxinna, mcleagan, and Ellie61 for following/favoriting this story.**

 **And thank you so much to mggublergal** (thank you! It was a hard choice figuring out where I wanted JJ to be, but I felt like it was right to have her sort of managing the "team" so to speak), **Guest** (they are quite similar, aren't they?), **krusherlover** (why thank you! I'm glad you've enjoyed it thus far!), **zhangxinna** (thank you! Sorry it's taken this long tpo update!) **for leaving reviews. I really appreciate all your feedback. Sorry it's taken this long to post an update! Real-world politics has left me stressed enough, haha.**


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